Fireman Wilson
by hwshipper
Summary: Immediately riveted, House put down the mag. 'I guess you really did check out the prices of fireman strippers.' Wilson in a fireman's helmet. Spoilers for 5.11 Joy To The World.


**Title:** Fireman Wilson  
**Author:** hwshipper  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
**Beta:** enormous thanks again to lazy_nightowl  
**A/N:** Follows Make the Man: Five Times Wilson Wore House's Clothes (and one time he didn't), but also works fine as a standalone. Spoilers for 5.11 _Joy To The World_.

**Fireman Wilson**

**Wilson:** Of all the ways to mess with people, why give yourself an imaginary present?  
**House:** Have you checked the prices for fireman strippers recently?  
**Wilson**: Yes.  
_[5.11 Joy To The World]_

House was lying on his bed, but wasn't asleep; it was too early in the evening for that. He was stretching out his leg while reading, when he heard the familiar knock at his front door.

"Go away!" he shouted, from sheer force of habit. He hadn't expected Wilson to drop by this evening, but he didn't actually mind.

As the key turned in the lock, House suddenly realized that it wouldn't do to be caught reading _Joseph Bell On Surgery_ and pushed the book under his pillow. At the further realization that he would now appear to be lying on his bed for no reason, he groped further under the pillow for alternative reading matter and found an old copy of _Big Girls in Boots_. That would do.

He was flicking nonchalantly through the glossy magazine, slightly hampered by the number of pages that were stuck together, when Wilson appeared in his bedroom doorway.

"Hey," Wilson said.

House turned a page and said, "Hey," as casually as possible. He then glanced up, and all thoughts of big girls--in boots or otherwise--were forgotten.

Wilson was standing there wearing jeans, his old bottle green sweatshirt, and... a yellow fireman's helmet.

"Whoa." Immediately riveted, House put down the mag. "I guess you really did check out the prices of fireman strippers. Or their gear, anyway."

"Indeed." Wilson advanced into the room. The helmet was ridiculously outsize, dwarfing Wilson beneath it.

"You look like a giant mushroom," House observed. A very cute mushroom, though, with mischievous brown eyes glinting under the brim, and an inviting bulge down the front of those jeans.

Wilson nodded at the magazine. "Maybe I picked a bad time."

House tossed the mag carelessly away onto the floor. "Not if you brought a pole worthy of a fireman along with the helmet."

Wilson grinned as he joined House on the bed. "I was going to make a crack about bringing my fireman's hose with me, but yeah, a pole will do."

Wilson crawled across the mattress on hands and knees, reached House and leaned forward. The helmet overhung Wilson's head by some considerable way, and bumped gently against House's forehead as they kissed. House arched his neck to one side so he could reach Wilson's mouth properly, and breathed in scents of plastic and metal along with gentle shampoo and cologne. He rummaged inside Wilson's mouth with his tongue and put up a hand to touch Wilson's head, feeling the outlines of a big brass badge on the front of the helmet.

Then deft fingers tweaked his fly and reached inside, and House growled, the sound making the tiniest echo under the brim of the helmet. Wilson bit House's upper lip gently, then shifted backwards and dropped downwards.

House looked down to see his crotch now wearing a bright yellow plastic codpiece: Wilson's head completely invisible under the bobbing helmet. For a few seconds House felt ridiculously as if the helmet itself was applying suction to his cock, pulling it in, blowing him. Lips that were slightly rough ran along his shaft, and House twitched and groaned and thrust a little.

He easily could have closed his eyes and let Wilson carry on; instead he chose to tap on the helmet (a little harder than he needed to, just to hear the sound it made--not quite as hollow as he expected) and gasp, "Gotta fuck you with that thing on."

Wilson drew back, and House took the opportunity to wriggle free from his pants and out of his boxers, and fish in the nightstand for a condom. Wilson stripped too, removing the helmet for a few seconds to yank the sweatshirt off over his head. He then put on the helmet again, and this time it sat a little askew, the badge off-center, giving him a slightly roguish look.

House, slicking up, was comfy in his semi-reclining position and not about to move. "Sit on me."

Wilson didn't reply, merely eyed House's erection, tall and hard; he then moved to straddle House's chest. House reached out with sticky probing, stretching fingers; Wilson worked himself on them for a moment, eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering with each breath. The helmet above his bare chest tipped a little. Then he moved backwards and lowered himself onto House's cock.

Wilson hissed as he eased himself down, and the helmet seemed about to slide off his head. He was guiding House's cock inside himself with one hand and supporting his weight on the other, so House reached up and pushed the helmet gently back into place, feeling sweaty hair and scalp underneath.

And then House jutted his hips upward to press right up inside Wilson, and the helmet nearly toppled off again as Wilson's body jolted violently. Wilson cried out, and blood was pumping so hard in House's head now that he could hardly hear, barely think, and not see anything at all except for bold yellow and flashing tin rocking back and forth. Then he felt Wilson clench his buttocks and _fucking hell _that set off the fireworks, a chain reaction pumping from House's groin and reverberating throughout his body.

As sight seeped slowly back into his eyes, House watched Wilson wrap a fist around his own cock and jack off swiftly, hot come shooting out of the fireman's hose, the helmet slipping down over his eyes like a giant yellow mask.

"I thought firemen were supposed to extinguish heat, not bring it," House panted.

"Guess I won't give up the day job," Wilson gasped, and slumped next to House onto the pillow, then grunted and stuck a hand underneath it. He pulled out _Joseph Bell On Surgery._ "Huh. This looks familiar."

"Complete coincidence," House assured him.

Wilson snorted, pushed the book back under the pillow, flung an arm across House, and fell asleep.

END


End file.
